


This Trip is My Last Slip

by verywhale



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Use, Edwardian AU, Islands Trip, Other, Rituals, Shinguuji spoilers as they are, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verywhale/pseuds/verywhale
Summary: [V3 spoilers]National Lottery Presents: A Delightful Vacation to The Summery Islands!Only This September!Write a letter to The National Lottery Department marked as “Vacation” and have a chance to win a 21-days trip to The Muimi Islands!Pristine nature! Eternal summer! Meeting with native inhabitants! A special experience you will remember for the rest of your life!Residence and sea transit costs are covered by The National Lottery Department!Approved and Certified by The Saishuu City Parliament!Lottery applications are accepted till August 31st.Only 4 Winners! Do Not Miss Your Chance!See You In The Tropical Paradise This September!Or: Thanks to luck and a little dodge, Shinguuji can take a trip with his dear friend again.





	1. Violent Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Amami & Shinguuji Travelling AU start!
> 
> This fic is actually a side prequel of another Steampunk/Edwardian patchwork AU fic I'm planning to write in the co-authorship. It's going to be focused on Saihara & Ki-Bo and feature the rest of V3 cast. I will link it when it gets published, but if you are only interested in this Amami & Shinguuji story, you can opt the sequel out, and vice versa.
> 
> Amami's sister is the only OC that has a name and counts as a secondary character in this story.
> 
> Muimi (無意味) means “nonsense”, “meaningless”.
> 
> Big thanks to my beta-readers Gundam and KomaruNaegi, as well as to all people who provide ideas and support me.
> 
> Thank you for dropping in, I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to leave your comments.

In the busy capital city, with its towers and cobbled roads, restaurants and gutters, another autumn day was passing by. After lavish morning rain, the sun dried the roofs, driveways, and bystanders’ hats, and even the factories’ noxious smoke didn’t mar the bliss of that golden, almost summery day.

In the wealthy outskirts of the Upper Town, hemmed in by woods from the north and Middle Town labyrinths from the west and south, smart gentlemen and graceful ladies, along with their children and servants, were enjoying the serenity in their private parks and balconies. Three toddlers in light coats, accompanied by four older girls and two governesses, ran up the stairs of the biggest residence in the district, a white marble mansion of seven stories that could throw even the grand parliament palace into the shade—that was just the extent to which this industrious family outmatched the elected government in their influence.

Amami turned back to the corner where his father was working. “Thank you again for your trust,” he said in a humble voice, stopping at the door-frame. Outside, leaves were being brushed off the trees, birds were dancing above the sleepy garden, and Amami traced his finger along the doorframe, patiently waiting for his father to look up from his paperwork.

“Why the reluctance?” A gruff voice arose from the corner. “I expect the winners in five minutes, no more no less.”

“Yes, sir,” Amami smiled and walked away.

The only window in the library separated bursting shelves and bookcases from the desks and blackboards, a land of endless fantasies that provided an escape from the drudgery of the plain classroom. When Amami was younger, he was no different from the other kids, trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world, see the sparrows jumping on the lanes or the yardmen driving them away, laugh at some composer’s portrait and his moustache—anything but listen to a teacher’s mundane lecturing. He visited one of his younger sisters’ lessons a while ago, and found himself amused by how she responded to the teacher’s rebuke – in fact, the same manner that he himself used to reply. Watching the clouds scud across the sky was simply preferable to memorizing the years of some stranger’s life.

It was reaching the time when the sun faced the library window, so Amami didn’t light the candles and went straight to the desk that concealed two bags. It took a moment for him to grasp how jammed the bags were— the sheer number of people across the country who wanted to get their hands on a lucky trip ticket. Amami sat down, crossing his arms and legs. _I should probably take the sacks out and empty their insides_ , he thought, _and then choose four envelopes at random_. Should he shuffle them for more variety? Should he read the addresses, or would that make it less fair?

The sound of the door opening distracted Amami from his thoughts. He heard a skirt brushing the carpet, and soft, idle steps approaching him. Yet his visitor didn’t speak, pretending to be unnoticed just as he pretended not to notice their entrance. The steps ceased, and with a single line Amami broke the silence:

“Come in, Sadako-chan.”

The tall girl stood unmoving with wide eyes, staring at Amami in a daze. She raised her arms slowly while giggling, and when Amami turned to her, face bright, she slapped her knees and exclaimed:

“And again! I give up! Tell me, how do you do it?”

He knew that Sadako would lift her skirt’s hem and draw near, but not as furtively as before. He knew that she would display her pleading smile, tacitly begging him to reveal his secret tactic: how did he always guess it was her, Sadako, his third sister, rather than another sibling or a servant? But Amami just confined himself to smirking, shaking his head.

“I’m not telling. Just listen once in awhile. You just don’t realize how useful it can be.”

“But I said that I gave up, so—”

“Didn’t I tell you not to give up so easily?” Amami said strictly. “Don’t be so lazy. It’s dangerous.”

“I didn’t hear it…” Sadako said to herself under her breath. She pressed her lips together and swept her gaze across the library, trying to find a new subject to change the topic to. Her eyes fixed on the window and the garden for a few seconds, before she relinquished her glare and abruptly turned to the bags under Amami’s desk.

“Just asking, but what are these bags? Aren’t they from Father’s room?”

“You’re right. Father told me to pick the lottery winners.” Without rising, Amami withdrew a sack and let it fall to the carpet with a thud. “If you don’t mind, would you help me please?”

“I don’t even know… what do you even have to do?” Sadako tilted her head and touched the bag that was hard as a heap of stones. “They look so stuffed.”

He let a chuckle escape him. “It’s not difficult at all. I’ll take out the letters, and you just pull out two from the pile.”

Amami retrieved another sack, untied them both and let the sea of rustling letters pour onto the floor. Sadako started as the wave approached her feet; soon, the whole carpet was hidden under dozens of motley envelopes.

“So many of them!” Sadako fell on her knees and dug her hands into the letters. “I’ll scatter them a bit, alright?”

“That would be helpful, Sadako-chan,” Amami replied. The sight of his sister crawling on the floor and leafing through the letters, eyes glowing and shoulders shaking with determination delighted him. He covered his mouth to hide his growing smile.

“I feel sorry for anyone who doesn’t get chosen,” Sadako said while wading towards the other side of the pile. She squinted her eyes and bent over to grab two random applications. “There are just so many of you!”

A cloud fell across the sun, erasing the warm glow outside. Amami could no longer make out the writing from where he sat, forcing him to move closer to clearly see the winners. Choosing randomly, Sadako picked a grainy envelope with two stamps and a frilly pink one, adorned with tiny flower stickers, lacy edging and identical stamps showcasing an ancient temple.

“I’m afraid…” Sadako checked the addresses and voiced her concern, “…that these people are from the same city. Should we leave it as it is?”

“No problem, that’s just how lotteries work,” Amami took the letters from her and read the names. “Let’s just say that these girls were lucky enough to go on the trip together.”

“But what if they aren’t friends? Or they don’t even know each other?”

“It’s said that extreme situations strengthen people’s bonds, and can make even sworn enemies best friends.”

“Seriously, what are you saying, brother?” Sadako frowned, fists curled at her sides. “It’s definitely going to be a peaceful trip. Stop thinking about the downsides so much.”

“There, there,” Amami held out his hand to pet Sadako’s head, but she just crinkled her nose in response. He stepped away.

“My turn now,” he said, picking the nearest letter. It was scummy, with wrinkled corners, but signed with prim handwriting and finished with the shape of the main clock tower on a shiny seal.

“I think this is even better than your choice: this one lives in the capital. At least he’s from Lower Town, so nobody will think bribery was at play.”

Sadako snatched the letter and threw her head back as she read the notes. “Lower Town, you say? But his name… no-no, it must be a coincidence. What do you think, brother? You read the name, right?”

Amami forgot what he was going to answer. His narrowed eyes were peering at one letter on the top of a small hill between him and Sadako. He was holding a final envelope with just two fingers, but his grip loosened as he leaned forward, the application falling back to the pile.

“Ah, brother, you dropped the letter! I think it’s next to your knee!”

“S-sorry, my bad,” Amami said, hesitating and turning away from Sadako. “I can’t recognize it anyway, so I’ll just take a new one, all right?”

The unnerving smile that twisted her brother’s face left Sadako numb. She traced his precise movements to a distant hill of letters and the exact grey envelope, decorated with a geometric pattern. She noticed his hard gaze, as if he recognized something he was aiming for. She crept closer and looked under Amami’s arm.

“May I ask you… did you really just drop the first letter on accident?”

“Of course, Sadako-chan,” Amami’s voice became upbeat again. “Who do you think your brother is - a cheater?”

She decided to keep silent. They placed the four winning applications on the table, leaving hundreds of others behind, lost and forgotten. A gust of wind crashed against the window, and Sadako shivered after glancing at the pale, murky yard.

“See, it wasn’t a big deal,” Amami said, hugging Sadako’s back. “Please, call Toujou-san so she can clean all this stuff up.”

“I feel sorry for the rest—”

“No harm done, Lady Luck simply wasn’t on their side.”

Before leaving, Sadako looked over the letters once more. She didn’t recall any of the names listed, including the one on the grey envelope; but she let the unease fall when she saw her brother’s calm expression. She’d ask him about it later, or even seek out the mystery herself after the first fateful meeting.

***

In a small, tranquil town residing somewhere among the mountains, only a lively celebration could draw crowds. The workday wasn’t over yet, but the lanterns, trees and roofs were already blooming with ribbon flowers and paper furnishings woven into birds, spirits and fruits. Tradesmen on the streets wore tall red hats and opened their stands with fireworks, baked apples and jelly sweets, along with other symbols that marked the change of season.

The owner of grocery shop let her employees go home earlier than usual, allowing everyone to change into fancy dresses and finish their preparations for the holiday. But before returning home, Koizumi ran to the repair shop, uncertain if it would be open. The repairman’s education and experience would surely help him to modify her camera for the festival—it was a rare camera that could depict the world as faithfully to its true colours as possible. Even if the shots were blurrier than the usual black-and-white technique, she wanted to capture the whole spectrum of colours of the citizens’ merry smiles for this festival. She had spent almost two years saving up for it, adding in her grant for finishing second place in the national photography contest. While the winner had received the exact same camera for free, she had gotten it on her own through blood, sweat, and tears.

Koizumi met the repairman, dressed in a carnival robe, at the market entrance. Much to her dismay, he told her that the camera had been fixed three days ago. Her discontent didn’t bother him, and he told her to enjoy the festival and come again in the morning. Koizumi thanked him, but her smile withered as they parted ways. The very prospect of having to take the same old black-and-white pictures she had for several years made her eyes sink, and with her plans and spirits dashed, she left the emporium with no intention of coming back.

The only paved road soon branched off into several dirt paths. Koizumi turned the furthest right, to her native street dotted with small country houses. With a weak smile, she greeted every neighbour on her way, either decorating their facades, grilling meat on terraces, or walking towards the market. An old lumberjack, one of her father’s friends, ran into her, and she trained her glazed eyes on him as he plied her with questions. No, she’s not going to the carnival: she would celebrate at home. It’s okay, she didn’t want to leave her dad alone, after all. Yes, she would set the table for the holiday, guests were welcome, for sure. Yes, it’s sad that her mother was away on her job again. She’d be fine, she had always come home from war zones without bruises, but with lots of photos instead. No idea why these countries are fighting again, sorry. Koizumi bade him good evening and hurried away before he could entangle her with another question, getting closer to her boiling point.

When a piece of a green roofing slid into Koizumi’s view, she brisked up her pace, manoeuvring around the endless decorations on her path. But the roof was not the only sight—a tiny figure was running closer, arms waving and skirt aflutter. Koizumi recognized her as her friend Saionji. Her face was shining just like her new dress, pink and white, adorned with rhinestones and ribbons. She had returned from a national dancing contest in the capital, and Koizumi heaved a sigh of relief when she thought of upcoming stories of Saionji’s match that would help her to forget about her problems.

“Heeey, sis!” Saionji called. She kept her eyes on Koizumi instead of watching her way, and a small piece of rubble cut off her cheer. She flapped her arms, but it didn’t save her from falling and sliding on dirt. Three boys from their neighbourhood, mid-way through stealing berries, stopped and burst into laughter.

“Look! The frog princess is in her natural habitat!”

Koizumi moved towards Saionji, still lying in the mud and crying, waiting for someone to pick her up. One boy swung his arm to throw a berry, but Koizumi yelled at him:

“Don’t you dare, you jerk! One move, and I’ll tell your parents you were stealing again!”

“Oh no, Mommy is gonna punish us!” he leapt over the fence and darted out of sight. “Run, run, guys!”

“Right, run away, and don’t come back until you’ve learned some manners!”

Koizumi watched their cowardly backs retreat, and then offered a hand to Saionji. All her prior joy had been washed away by tears and splatters of mud. When she rose and looked down at her dress, no longer bright and pink, and touched her hair, now dishevelled and missing her pins, she released another howl:

“Uwaaaah! I tripped and these ugly bullies laughed at me! It’s all that nasty pig’s fault, it’s all her rotten influence! Blame her for it, not me!”

“Come on, Hiyoko-chan, it’s nobody’s fault,” Koizumi said, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket. “Let me help you.”

Saionji let Koizumi rub her flushed face. More tears were about to spill, but her kind touch wiped her pain away.

“I think I should inform their parents of their sons’ bad behaviour,” Koizumi said. Frustration crinkled Saionji’s eyes again, and she screamed as she waved the handkerchief aside:

“Why even pay attention to those imbeciles? You’re just ignoring me and the state of my dress! My _new_ beautiful dress! I just wanted to show it to sis! Why is this happening to meeeee?!”

“Please, stop crying, Hiyoko-chan. Don’t worry about your dress, it’s more important that you aren’t hurt.”

“I’m hurt! I’m _so_ hurt! I chose this dress just for _this_ festival, so I could celebrate with sis and take photos of me dancing! And then sis tells me to not worry? How mean of you!”

She tore off a piece of ribbon matted with dirt and tossed it away. Koizumi had to restrain Saionji’s hands to stop her from casting the rest of her hair clips to the ground.

“Now Grandma’s surely going to throw it away or use it as a floor cloth!” Saionji cried. “She always does that with my dirty or ripped clothes! It’s unfair!”

Koizumi sighed. “Just give it to me. I’ll clean it until you can’t even remember it got dirty in the first place. But please, don’t tear anything.”

Saionji’s eyes widened, and she jumped with a merry laugh. “Aaah, thank you so much! And I can take a bath at your home too, right?” She grabbed Koizumi’s skirt and gazed at her. “And you’ll help me put the dress on, won’t you?” She spun around and clapped her hands. “Does that mean I can spend a night at sis’ place?”

Frozen and baffled, Koizumi glanced away. She made a step back and thrusted her hands in her pockets, but Saionji rushed to her and pulled them out, looking at her with growing impatience. The unsettling pause didn’t last long, and Koizumi soon forced a gentle smile.

“You leave me no choice.”

“Hey, hey, it’s wonderful, don’t you think?” Koizumi’s half-hearted reply didn’t satisfy her, so Saionji dragged her to the Koizumi residence herself. “This is going to be the best summer holiday ever! Since I’ve been away from my lovely sis for a whole week, let’s spend every minute together!”

“Are you calling your journey a waste of time?” Koizumi asked, her brows raised. “Don’t you enjoy dancing contests? I was looking forward to hearing some wonderful stories!”

“Nah, it wasn’t that wonderful at all,” Saionji said curtly. “The food was almost as gross as Tsumiki’s face…” She sneered. “Just remembering it makes me want to kick something! Like this!”

The lattice gate of an upper-class house was burst open, and a garden gnome confronted the two girls with its dull, white eyes. Saionji moved towards it, but in a second Koizumi had sensed the elevated status of the house, with its lush garden and satin curtains.

“Don’t, Hiyoko-chan, please,” she said as she caught Saionji’s skirt. “It’s not your property after all.”

“Like I care about some fat bastard’s garden bauble! But _fine_ \- if you insist, I won’t do it.”

They returned to the road. Saionji told her about food she’d eaten in the capital, stiff and bitter as if it had been cooked in factory fumes, and about an audience that didn’t even try to stifle their yawns during the show—for her, even the fact she had won was eclipsed by these inconveniences. When they entered Koizumi’s front yard, Saionji buzzed with excitement to tell her about the third finalist, the ripped clothes and shards of glass in her shoes right before the closing performance, but Koizumi turned away and stopped in front of her stuffed mailbox.

“Come inside, I’ll just get the mail and then I’ll listen to you.”

“Nooo, I want to see if sis got something cool!”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Koizumi said, taking all the mail out. “All you’re going to see are more bills—”

“What is this?” A red seal slipped by Saionji’s eyes, and she rushed to snatch the letter. “Hey, hey, let me see it!”

“What are you doing?” Koizumi moved to retrieve the letter, but Saionji turned her back to her and ripped open the envelope from the side. She found a blank sheet of paper, folded in four lengthwise, and a silver ticket. In less than a moment, just as Koizumi was about to start her irritated lecture, Saionji jumped and seized her confused friend in her arms.

“Hiyoko-chan!” Caught by surprise, Koizumi stepped back and threw her hands up reflexively. “What’s this all of a sudden?”

“I’m so happy! Happy, happy, happy!” Saionji nuzzled her head against Koizumi’s chest and met her face with a big smile. “This is the best reward I could get after leaving sis for such a long time!”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, sis, my icky dress and some icky memories made me forget the main news I had for you!”

Saionji released Koizumi and started digging inside her tarnished sash. A similar envelope with the same thick seal, opened from the side, appeared in her hand. Eagerly, she showed its contents to Koizumi: a sheet of crystal white paper marked by small letters in blue ink.

_Saionji Hiyoko-san,_

_Congratulations!_

_By results of National Lottery held on August 3rd—August 31st 190X, out of over 50,000 applications, you’ve been chosen as a winner. Your prize is a 21-days trip to the Muimi Islands, joined by 3 other winners and 2 representatives of National Lottery Department._

_The ticket attached to this letter is a proof of your victory. The ship departs from the Saishuu City Main Port on 19:00, on September 14th, 190X._

_The meeting of the winners with the National Lottery Department representatives starts on 16:30, on September 14th, 190X, at the Saishuu City Central Square. Required documents include this letter, the ticket provided with your name and attached to this letter, and an international passport._

_Sea transit and residence costs are covered by the National Lottery Department._

_We wish you a good trip and happy holidays!_

_National Lottery Department_

Before Koizumi could ask anything, Saionji gave her a pair of tickets, stamped with white signet, with two names written in familiar handwriting: Koizumi Mahiru and Saionji Hiyoko.

“See? We are going to travel together! Me and sis!” she laughed and ran to hug Koizumi again. “Aren’t you glad? Please, tell me that you are glad!”

Koizumi tested the words in her mind once more. _Muimi Islands. Winner of the lottery. 21-days trip._ Even for this short amount of time, she would leave this dusty town and see new places and new smiles. 21 days away from a life that had become unbearable for her, 21 days without bottling up her exhaustion and frustration, and finally enjoying herself instead of feigning happiness. 21 days of uncovering the mysteries in the world of her dreams that would be immortalised on a timeless camera roll.

“This is the best gift I could’ve imagined…” she said, trying in vain to hold back the tears. “I… I can’t believe it…”

“Ah, sis!”

And hand in hand, Koizumi and Saionji walked to the house together.

***

When dusk bathed the streets in a peachy pink and faceless shadows in blue, the routine of Lower Town entered its next stage. Factories spat out their first batches of laborers, letting the next in for the night shift. Ratty kids met their mothers, who were exhausted from work, as older siblings replaced them. A fat barkeeper lit a couple of lamps in his inn, throwing the light on the shadow of a stray cat that scurried around the corner.

When Ishimaru left the tidy street where the school was located and returned to Lower Town, he was met by familiar apartments with their rusty dripping pipes, boarded-up windows, and empty bottles framing the creaky entrance door. The only changes were the disappearing sun and the queue that had formed beside the bar— the rest of life appeared the same as always.

Ishimaru jumped over a strange puddle in the doorway and moved to the sixth floor, passing by the cacophony of an argument on the third floor. The last attempt he had made at stopping that young couple had left him with two black eyes and penniless pockets. 

“I’m home, Mother!” he shouted, entering his apartment. His mother, a small woman in a green apron, was in the same room, stooping above a table filled with the remains of chopped meat and vegetables.

“Ah, welcome back, Kiyo-kun,” she turned her head to greet him with a smile, before looking at the metal pot on the stove. “Dinner isn’t ready yet, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting…”

“No worries, Mother!” Ishimaru replied, placing his school suitcase on the striped sofa that served as a bed for the three people of his family. “Take as much time as you need!”

Ishimaru’s mother glanced over him and his steel-grey uniform, as immaculate as it was the day he bought it.

“How was school today?” she asked in a small voice.

“It was excellent as always!” he said. “I’ve been doing great in all my classes as usual! The Literature teacher almost cried when I read the ancient Poem of Ages!”

“I would also cry - you make me so proud, Kiyo-kun…” She folded her hands, gazing at her son in tearful awe. “And how are your friends doing?”

Ishimaru stuttered, all his prior spirit melting into a shapeless heap. He pressed his fist to his mouth and talked through it: 

“Oh, they are fine. They were just… just throwing paper birds at me when I was reading the poem… But I persevered with clear mind! I refused to falter!”

Ishimaru’s mother nodded, retaining a tense smile and blinking restlessly. Ishimaru raised his eyes at her, but she looked away, unable to stifle a loud sob. He rushed to her and she turned her face back to him—it was already puffy with tears.

“Why…” Ishimaru’s voice went wobbly. “W-Why are you crying?”

She wiped tears with her sleeve, avoiding Ishimaru’s line of sight. “I’m so sorry, Kiyo-kun… Please, ignore your stupid old mother—”

“Don’t say that!” he screamed and shook her shoulders. “It’s me who’s being stupid! If I hadn’t told you about that small accident… No, it wasn’t even an accident, just a little speck!”

He hid his arms behind the back and bowed, so his head was abreast his mother’s knees. “I am deeply apologetic! How dare I make you worry!”

“Never mind, you must forget it, Kiyo-kun—”

Her tears stopped; she crouched and patted his cheek. Ishimaru extended his arms to hug his mother, but a sizzle from the kitchen table made her start away from his embrace.

“Ah, the soup!”

Quickly, she turned the stove off. The pot stopped its seething, but a lumpy brown mess had already spilled out, splattering the nearest wall and covering the stove’s surface.

“Let me help you clean it up!” Ishimaru said and grabbed a towel. After a couple of brisk movements, sans hesitation, the table was as clean as possible.

“You are so considerate,” his mother said, taking the greasy towel. “I’m so grateful that my son has retained the dignity of Ishimaru family.”

He clenched his teeth and squinted his eyes as his mother’s words struck him. He glanced over the room again—its ripped yellow wallpaper, gnats circling a kerosene lamp, and straw sticking out of the sofa’s holes. It had been three years since he’d last had dinner made by a prominent chef, studied with a private tutor from the university he’d been aiming for, or seen his parents’ hopeful smiles. The fall of a genius, his grandfather, had kicked them from a life of prosperity to one of debt and squalor. These thoughts attacked Ishimaru’s mind every time he entered the school’s hall or the house’s porch, but he couldn’t let his temper exhaust his energy. He converted it into a firm resolve, that kept him in school despite his inability to pay its fees in time, and that would fling open the doors to the university that could recover his family’s sunken pride.

“You and Father can always count on me!” he shouted, shaking his raised fist. “The misfortunes we’ve been suffering cannot crush me! You will see how my hard work will bring our family back from the ashes!”

Filled with determination, he was just about to hit the table with his fist as a prelude to a longer speech, but a glimpse of something red and thick next to the stove caught his attention. It wasn’t a smear of mash or a random piece of food, it looked like a seal stamped over a big envelope, with his name written at the cover.

“What is this?” Ishimaru asked, concerned. “A letter for me?”

“Ah, it got soiled!” his mother yelled. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have put such an important thing on the kitchen table!”

Ignoring any signs of grease on the envelope, he took the letter and broke the seal. A silver ticket, shining as bright as the lamplight, fell into his hands. He saw a date, _September 14th, 190X_ , and his name again, written above a white signet and a picture of a steamship. Ishimaru also found a folded sheet of paper inside, and he was blinded by its subject. He reread it once, twice more to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him—but the same words of congratulations kept appearing before his eyes.

“Mother!” he shouted, eyes still trained on the letter. “Listen!”

“What is it, Kiyo-kun?” Mother asked, stunned with impatience. Ishimaru cleared his throat and took a deep breath, only to shake his head and cut himself off:

“Wait! I can’t read it now. I want both you and Father to see this decisive message!”

“Don’t tell me, your academic progress has been noticed by local authorities?” she gasped.

“Not yet, but—no, I’m not telling you now! Father also has to know!”

“What could it be?”

And on this happy note, the entrance door creaked open.

***

An old horse stepped out of the cobbled side-street, leading a cart with two novice doctors and the body of a young woman with a deep gash in her neck, caused by a handicraft arrow. A police cab followed the cart, and two witnesses were deposited in the gateway—the inspector had told them both to come to the station in the morning, to allow their minds to freshen up after some necessary rest.

That case would preoccupy the town for several weeks and months forward. People would cry and curse the unknown killer for her death, even if they’d never met her before or had harboured ill will towards her. The police would rack their brains over a motive for killing someone as unremarkable and over a possible trap that could shoot an arrow. The tenants of the side-street would be interrogated after the first witnesses, and when the police grew tired and weary, a coin toss would choose the most affected or, otherwise, the most indifferent of them and consign them to exile. Even after the stamp had closed the case and the supposed culprit had been punished, the citizens would spin conspiracy theories about the ‘criminal’s’ innocence, the police’s deceptions, and the failure of the government. But after a couple of months of mental agitation, the murder would be dropped as the citizens grew bored and eager for some new ballyhoo.

The second witness, a senior man with a white moustache and a walking stick, was a tourist returning to the hotel. Nobody had asked his name yet: the inspector and doctors didn’t take any interest in his origin, and ignored that he didn’t fit in with the well-known folk mold. They paid more attention to the first witness, a person who every citizen had heard about at least once. 

“Shinguuji-san… right?” The tourist glanced at the tall young man, who he’d initially met running from the gateway and begging to call for help. “Are you feeling better now? Are you sure that you’re mentally prepared to come to the police station tomorrow?”

Shinguuji tightened his grip on himself. A dull moonlight flashed on his sweaty face—or the half of it that could be seen above his leather mask. “I still cannot drive the sight out of my memory,” he said. “But it is my duty as both witness and citizen to furnish the police with all the information I can provide.”

The senior had no objection, and only turned back to the empty crime scene. Blood drops were scattered across the wall; the windows above the alley were flickering with the silhouettes of the first excited onlookers. The din had irritated the inspector, and at once he’d ordered them to stay in their cells and not to even think about intruding the location.

“I assume we need to leave now,” Shinguuji added. “There is no point in standing here, when the body is being taken away, and no point in counting the seconds before the meeting at the station. Let us ready ourselves, so we do not falter in front of the officers.”

“Ah, I see… If only I could close my eyes without recalling that scene… Why would someone even hurt—”

But his words fell on deaf ears: Shinguuji had already left.

The word about the murder had yet to reach the rest of the town, so Shinguuji was almost alone in the sleepy, shabby suburbs. At the last moment of respite before the inevitable uproar, he was forcing himself to walk as usual, holding his hands away from his hair—even though it almost covered his view— but he still couldn’t disguise the trembling of his shoulders. 

He unlocked the door of his old house and entered the hallway. Even with the light cast by two lamps, it was still dark. The doors to the various rooms were ajar, exposing their empty insides. Shinguuji took off his boots and advanced forward. All of his distress was left at the entrance: he could finally breath with relief. He didn’t have to conceal the pangs in his chest, he had finally achieved absolute solitude—

_“You are disappointing me, Korekiyo.”_

The soothing voice that came from his own mouth made him pause and clutch his chest. He leaned against the empty wall behind him, quickly putting the mask back on.

“W-why am I… I-I did everything I could to stay in-inconspicuous! N-nobody questioned me, th-they even sympathized with me!” He screamed to the ceiling, the doors, the windows and the curtains. They maintained their silence—he gripped his face and scrunched up his eyes. “T-tell me what, w-what did I do wrong this time?!”

_“Please, calm down.”_

A spasm shot through his knees and numbed his body. Shinguuji slipped over to the wall and drew his legs up to his chest. Without opening his eyes, he held his breath and gulped, his right hand removing the mask again.

_“I am glad that you removed yourself quickly and did not give yourself away to those ugly people. But why did you not flee the scene when it was just finished?—”_

“B-but why did I… h-have to?” His hand and mind suddenly came back under his control. He unbent his legs in a flash and grasped his trembling shoulders. His shrill voice cracked as the heat, sweat and anguish suffocated him.

“I-If I am c-correct, you h-have never seen it as a p-problem!”

_“Do not interrupt me please.”_

The gentle tone sent a thick burning arrow through his heart. A heavy rumble vibrated through the room, and chaotic rings pierced Shinguuji’s head as he hit it against the wall, drowning out the sound of his own groans. He tried to grab the hole that was left of him, push his hands into it and let the abysm swallow him – but he just collided with his scrawny chest, covered by sweat-drenched clothes.

When he finally opened his eyes, his sight was still dim and stingy from fatigue and smeared makeup. _Her_ hands, those warm hands, were caressing his face, brushing the hair from his eyes, the bandages rendered loose and greasy by sweat and running paint. The wheezes tearing his throat softened, and Shinguuji relaxed his shuddering breaths. Nonetheless, his limbs continued their ceaseless trembling.

_“You must not waste your time needlessly,”_ the whisper slipped from his lips after he kissed his own wrist. _“You must not fall prey to pointless emotions; you must not stay in one place for too long. I have told you this many times, yet you still do not seem to listen, even when you admit it yourself… Ah, you are being so boisterous, Korekiyo.”_

Shinguuji felt his body rise and balance itself on its aching feet. He found himself shambling to the farthest room, caressing himself with his near bare hands. His eyelashes were still sticky, but the view became clear. The bounds of dread were evaporating with every step.

_“Letting emotions overtake you in such a risky situation is not a good thing. You must conceal them until you are alone, out of harm’s way.”_

“Ah, you, you are right…” Shinguuji arched his back and stopped in the front of his room for a while. “Y-you are always right. I-I understand—”

He felt _her_ eyebrows frowning. Before his right hand could reach for the mask again, he resisted and placed it on his thigh. “I really understand now!”

_“I believe you can overcome it, Korekiyo,”_ at that moment, his left hand was holding the mask. _“Do you realize that if you cannot, everything you have strived for will be shattered, and you will be the only one at fault?”_

The paint on the walls was stained, and the room had a single window, covered by crannied shutters. Sometimes Shinguuji could get lost in his own room, stuffed with books, statues brought from the depths of the country, and weapons in their timeworn sheaths. But when he—and most importantly, _she_ —knew what was needed, there was no doubt it’d be found quickly.

“Y-yes! I-I will not let our efforts be in vain!” he declared. He found a little table, carved specially for his family back in days beyond recall, and surveyed all the treasures neatly stacked on the top. Two rolls of fresh bindings; a tall case for cosmetics and a thin, long case for brushes; a grainy photo of a sickly woman, with the darkness of her hair contrasting starkly with the shining white of her skin and surroundings; a foldable mirror in a polished frame; a sage-colored bag with an embroidered red cross; a delicate hand-sewn doll in a black wig and white dress; and a curved knife with a corrugated handle.

Shinguuji kneeled down to the table and shed his coat. The rest of his bandages fell off his arms. Brazen lantern rays came through the window shutters and grazed his aged scars, rope burns that would inflame again after being revived by a single memory; and each of the forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight recent cuts.

_“I do not want you to fall, Korekiyo. After everything that happened to us, you must proceed with all your might.”_

_Her_ praise intoxicated him. Craving more of _her_ orders, Shinguuji put his mask back and grabbed the knife by its blade. He usually had sterilizers prepared to kill all the pests he feared, but this time he was blinded by his zeal. His move was so reckless that the blade broke into several old cuts, causing an excess of blood to spring on the spot.

_“I see that you still have it in you. Therefore you can do everything perfectly.”_

The knife slipped out from his grip, weakened by stinging gashes on his palm. He pressed his arm to his chest, and the shirt gradually turned red. His frozen fingers couldn’t take hold of the mask, and he covered his face with his palm as the stench of blood raised his shaking voice.

“Ah… Th-thank you, sister…” He grabbed his shoulder, still cradling the wound close to the chest. “I w-will n-never abandon you. Y-you must never doubt it.”

Shinguuji opened his eyes again and looked at the mirror. He saw the woman from that grainy photo, who’d come back to life only for his moment of distress, smiling at him. _Her_ gaze was still firm, but _she_ was smiling. And just before the mirror could capture that angelic smile of _hers_ twisting into his own deranged grin, his right palm was back in place.

“Do… do you enjoy her company?”

The reflection in the mirror of his maskless face—eyes rolled and mouth moving under his palm—repulsed him, and he turned towards the wall. “She was th-the most praiseworthy, the m-most beautiful woman in this town… Please, sister… tell me that I made the right choice…”

_“Yes, I am very pleased, Korekiyo. Despite all troubles you have created, she is worthy indeed.”_

The lulling whisper wasn’t followed by a smile. Shinguuji twitched, while _she_ continued:

_“But I want you to do your best next time. I want you to promise me that you will not disappoint me again. I want you to hear my words and embody them without any qualms.”_

“T-thank you… Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Shinguuji found himself curled on the floor, running both hands over every inch of _her_ skin. The blood dried, the wounds stopped stinging, his clothes were scattered around, and the room was filled with thick, foul odor as he succumbed to his basest desires.

“Thank-k you-u, th-thank you…”

_"Well done, Korekiyo. And now, take care of yourself, and do not forget to check your mailbox. You definitely noticed something there as well.”_


	2. Standard Default

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with this update, nightmares will appear almost in every chapter.
> 
> I decided to leave out the zipper on Shinguuji's mask (except for eating one) because before 1920s, zippers were imperfect and considered dangerous.

Grey clouds, grey mountains, grey rivers pass beside the rocky path at different speeds, skirting corners and crashing into each other with splashes of purple. White trees shoot their nimble fingers out of the fog and catch the debris. As a wedge-shaped mountain and a blurry stream grow larger, it hugs an endless square room and plunges into the depths of black fog. Only the trail is still, and not a single rock crunches under Shinguuji’s bare steps.

He only sees the trail. He doesn’t dare to raise his head, to face the fog or the perpetual rush of his surroundings. He pretends to be a hunched figure, obscured by its white clothes—another pointless sight that forms part of the scenery.

He feels the winds coiling around him. He convinces himself he’s another piece of the room’s medley, no different from the shapes around him. An object moving on an invisible path towards an invisible exit.

Whirling and howling, a breeze assails his sleeve. Shinguuji clenches his teeth as the reckless spirit lashes at his faded scars, placing a fresh coat above them. If he goes further, they’ll go away; if he doesn’t react, they’ll leave him.

Another spirit circles him and reaches his hooded face, but Shinguuji brushes it away. As it crashes into the wall, its companions fly closer with more giggles. He wraps himself up in his cape and stoops, his hair escaping from its cover.

It takes a few seconds for a ghost to pull a strand. Shinguuji shakes his head, but the spirit seizes his hood, throwing it behind his back. His eyes twitch as if struck by a glare of light, but it only grows darker and moister. He is just one with the swirling fog, another friend of the white trees, a mere object—

The spirits flood the insides of his cape. They capture him, thrilled to finally see and grope at his wounds. Is it a spirit jeering, the muddy water babbling, or the trees’ limbs thrusting and tearing?  

Mountains are breaking into rubble and sprouting like newborn plants from the rivers. Clouds are turning into threads, whorls, knots, clots, blocking the path. There is no ceiling, just layers of gloom and a canopy of naked branches. Shinguuji throws a glance at his feet as they continue to move of their own volition, running from the hostile spirits and the thrusting trees and the sinuous rivers and the feathery clouds and—

_“Do not dare, Korekiyo.”_

Shinguuji slows and stares into the mist. He can’t discern the source of the voice, and the surroundings continue their turbulent lives, undisturbed.

_“Ignore those ugly kids. Do not take them seriously.”_

The spirits don’t stop their abuse and become more agitated after hearing these calls. Scratching his body makes them irritate his skin even more. Shinguuji lets out a quaking moan; he bends his knees, but they don’t touch the ground. Grabbing his jaw, he slowly opens his eyes.

_“Do not falter. Those words hold no meaning. Continue your route.”_

Clouds unfold on both sides, curling and opening a black tunnel at the end of the trail. His face twists into a grimace: eyes widening, cheeks burning, teeth chattering. If he clutches himself tighter, the nasty spirits will burst under his grip; if he runs faster, they’ll drop from him and crash into the stones. The torture will end if he obeys the healing voice.

_“You know what is right, Korekiyo. Do not stray from your path.”_

He steps on his fallen hood while rushing, but doesn’t pay it any heed. If he advances towards the tunnel, he’ll escape this limbo; if he obeys the voice, he’ll enter the world that gave birth to all previous worlds; if he obeys his sister, they’ll soon reunite in the new dimension. She will greet him and relieve him of all the pain and delusions. The world where all matters appear and die, where all universes loop and burst, will welcome him. He’ll return to where he truly belongs.

_“I have faith in your vigilance, Korekiyo.”_

No longer watching the trail, Shinguuji breaks further and feels a vacancy beneath his feet. He gasps, but can’t hear himself, his ears stunned by the screech of the shattering matter.

Grey clouds, grey mountains, grey rivers melt into a bloody void. One, two, four, more and more eyes pop out of the space and stare at Shinguuji as he grips the abyss that swallows his body. A mouth yawns and bites into an eye. A hand tightens and crushes a mouth. A yellow eye, streaked with its burst vessels, sprouts from a hand and sucks it inside itself.

“Sister! Sister!”

He can’t see himself, but feels the spirits, aggressive now, tearing at his remains and handing them to the flashing mouths. Anything that could drive the torturers away, or let him scream and call for his savior— _her—_ is gone. Only his senses remain, bathing him in a twisted mixture of pain and pleasure.

_“You do not like this, do you?”_

The soothing laugh grazes his ears again, malicious now, but he has no means to banish it; the red space begins to flicker and twirl once more, but he has no eyes to block it out; the dimension stops his consciousness from slipping, but he has no faculties to defy it. Streams of bubbles fan out beside him as the voice echoes:

_“But this world is where you truly belong.”_

***

Shinguuji plunged back into reality with a hoarse yell. Sweat was running all over his body, and his swollen head slammed the low-hanging ceiling as he abruptly sat up in the bed. He hissed from the sudden pain, touching the hit place and feeling a moist sensation on his hand. His wheezing was slowly opening up his clogged ears, weaving a path out of his recent fantasy and recovering his jumbled senses.

“Look, Prof is finally awake!” A nasal voice resounded beside him. “I was planning on kicking ya so you wouldn’t miss the station.”

A short wrinkly man in a shabby jacket was packing cans into his bag. Shinguuji stared at him for a while, then looked over at the uncovered beds, at the folding tables between them, and at the dim pink windows with tall trees and rails trembling and fading away. His memory was still resurging along with his senses, one after the other.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, his voice barely audible over the wheels’ clatter. “You were moanin’ in ya sleep, but I couldn’t wake you up.”

 _Yes, I remember_ , Shinguuji thought after picking out some voices and restless clatters nearby. He had stepped onto the platform three nights ago, and from there started his sluggish travel by train towards the capital. He’d chosen the cheapest option, so he’d been stuck in a stuffy low-class carriage, surrounded by countless noises.

“Thank you for your concern, but I am fine. It happens rather often, so you should not worry,” he answered. His breathing relaxed, and the haze in his head was dispersing, uncovering the true order of his memories.

“Alright, as you like, Prof.”

That old man was his bunkmate, a farmer visiting his daughter in the capital. He was literate, but had never seen the world beyond his farm before, so Shinguuji’s stories had been an ample source of wonder for all the monotonous days spent on the train. For this trip, Shinguuji had assumed the alias of his previous self: a man coming for the purpose of higher education after years of gaining practical experience through observations and associations. This was how the nickname of ‘Prof’ had stuck to him.

A child from the nearest bunk opened his eyes and slid to the floor, as lively as if he had been awake all along. “Good morning! Did Mom wake up?”

That boy and his professed mother had boarded on the station after Shinguuji’s. While the child was sleeping or exploring the carriage alone, the girl had put her knitting aside and told her companions a story of a baby abandoned on her terrace and accepted as her own son despite the debts and maladies troubling her family. She was so gracious that she refused to speak ill of the people who had left the child, or the folks threatening to kick them both out—they escaped before any more trouble could catch up with them.

“Ah, good morning. As you can see, she is presently sleeping,” Shinguuji said, observing the top bunk where the girl was lying completely still, facing the wall. Driven by a sudden impulse, he placed his palm on his mask, hiding a crooked smirk.

“Seriously, someone shake her awake!” the old man shouted, slinging a bag over his shoulder. “We’ve almost arrived.”

“Mom, please get up!”

Shinguuji excused himself, took his coat and went to the restroom at the opposite end of the carriage. Just a second passed as he moved next to the girl’s bunk—enough to catch a glimpse of unfinished mittens hanging on a single knitting needle in her limp hands, and her glassy eyes staring into the grey chasm.

“Mom, we’re nearly at the city!”

He hid a grin again, forgetting about the mask—a move as unconscious as the very thought of granting that selfless girl a better life. Were three days on the train a sufficient amount of time for such a decision? Did she gain _her_ trust in that short spell of time? Wasn’t Shinguuji simply blinded by greed and the guilt from his previous breakdown? Those questions had drilled a hole in his mind as he’d been hesitating last night, pretending to be focused on the wasteland drifting by outside his window. All the right answers had filled the hollows the very instant the needle had slipped out of the knitwork. Rustling and a chill in her ear had woken her up, but the needle that impaled her brain the next second had put her back into a deep, infinite sleep.

Grey clouds, grey mountains, grey rivers passed beside the rocky path at different speeds. Shinguuji entered the bathroom and closed the latch. The only evidence of his penance had been a smear of blood on his thumb, and he maintained his composure despite his jangled nerves. He would have to change his bandages afterwards, to cover a new cut mark. The girl had been too late to let out a scream or even a breath, and his fellow travellers had been adrift in their dream worlds with no hunch as to what was happening a few steps away. The world where all matters appeared and died, where all universes looped and blasted, would have welcomed him.

In the pocket of his coat, Shinguuji found a short brush and a jar of red paint—a perfect set for a summon on the go. He would have preferred a more precise ritual, but he had to compromise in a crowded place like a train, where any sudden knock could ruin the regular procedure. In the tiny window next to the mirror, he saw clouds turning into threads, whorls, knots, clots. Had he pleased _her_ ? Even if _she_ had initially shown approval, the deadly journey in the realm of his dreams that had plagued him that night left him in doubt.

 _My sister could not lie_ , Shinguuji said to himself, staring at the reflection of his lips reddening with every careful touch of the brush. _My sister must have given me this delicious pain_ , he thought, watching that beloved face emerge through the unpleasant cover. He couldn’t see himself, but he felt _her_ spirit, tearing at his remains. The train made its last turn before full stop—and during that moment, _she_ looked up at him through _her_ eyelashes and gave him a nod. Shinguuji hugged _her_ —and _she_ disappeared before he could taint _her_ presence with his own grin. Full stop.

Shinguuji left the restroom. His eyes were gleaming with awe—and he felt no need to hide it during the rush of packing and leaving.

“Mom!”

A sleeping mask was put in the bag’s left pocket, atop of rolls of bindings. Shinguuji buttoned his coat and put a silver locket around his neck.

“Mom, please! Please wake up!”

Shinguuji took the bag and bowed to his bunkmate, who, much to his pleasure, was more concerned by the sobbing kid.

“What’s up with her?”

The sound of the bunk creaking and a chorus of gasps mingled with the calls of the city. Shinguuji walked towards the threshold of the train.

“Mom! Moom!”

He stepped on the tiled platform, and a breath of chilly air swept the memories of the past few days aside, freeing up space for recollections of the bigger trip to come.

***

Three turns within the train station, two heavy gates pushed by the whole crowd, one tiny stand with souvenirs and maps of the city—and Shinguuji stepped out onto the street. The copy of the map he had just purchased was a piece of a gray cartridge paper with black linestrings and printed symbols, the only red symbol being a circle marking his current location in the station. Shinguuji leaned against a wall to avoid obstructing the flow of common people, and produced a pencil from his pocket to outline his way to the Central Square.

The red circle was circled by a swarm of little forks and knives, open books, and wine glasses. An empty area with a monument at its centre and a parliament palace on the top was his destination, and he could go straight past drug stores and more restaurants. However, it was only 11 in the morning, and he still had over five hours left for his own observations. He would love to go beneath the wealthy district and visit Lower Town—the industrial area—where the most beautiful people slaved away at the most ugly duties, but he would require much more than a mere five hours if he wanted to find good friends for _her_. The amount of time he’d waste on the trip would leave him with less than an hour for pointless wandering, so he decided to save this idea for later.

After a lapse of twenty minutes, a pencil curve outlined a short semi-circle, passing through the university. Shinguuji folded the map and moved across the road. The last time he’d been in the Saishuu City, he had lost his chance to pursue further studies despite his excellent marks and wealth of knowledge—or had he abandoned it himself? The first thing he’d done in the hotel room had been to send a phone call home, only to hear an old doctor’s dead voice and move out in an instant.

Shinguuji’s current intention was no different in nature from his one to visit Lower Town. He would still sate his hunger in a modest canteen, listen to a lecture on mythology or history in the remote corner of an auditorium, and take notes on the passing students in the campus garden. He intended to use the same alias he’d assumed on the train, and have his heart wither every time he remembered his reason for rejecting higher education—

But his plans failed materialise. Shinguuji was unaware that, since his last visit, the university administration had expanded their security system. The guards posted outside the gateway found fault in his absence of a student card and the suspicious mask he refused to take off. He almost regretted omitting a hike to Lower Town.

***

Four strikes of the city clock welcomed Shinguuji on the top floor of the ancient prison, air heavy with the spirits of the departed. His aimless trip came to its end; before leaving the grandstand tower, he looked at the larger map with extended labels in the entrance hall. The trip to the square would take about a half an hour through a market street.

As expected, the Central Square was alive with rushing citizens and small groups of tourists, but its decorations only comprised a vast parking place and the colossal statue of an ancient war hero—or war criminal, depending on your outlook. Shinguuji looked around for any signs of his fellow winners—here they were, a palette of yellow, white, brown and blue spots scattered around a signboard reading “Lottery Trip”, right below the monument.

Upon moving closer, the figures of five people emerged from the colourful mess. A brown spot turned into a frowning girl, with her cropped red hair cut so short it left Shinguuji bewildered. A yellow spot next to her happened to be a smaller girl with her blond hair twisted into a ponytail, and countless flowers blooming on her long dress. She was sitting on a suitcase and swinging her legs, ‘accidentally’ kicking a young man in a white school uniform. An odd blue spot was revealed to be a fusion of two blurs, of two alike people, one a tall girl, jumping on the spot and shaking her fuzzy head, the other a man with a mellow look in his eyes, striking Shinguuji as strangely familiar. He was the only one who was staying patient, and when he squinted his eyes to see Shinguuji coming, his face transformed—became more pleased—as if seeing an old acquaintance rather than a long-awaited stranger.

“Ah, I guess this is our last winner,” the tall girl said, taking a tablet from atop of the bags. The redhead rolled her eyes:

“Why are you men always so late?”

“Excuse me, Koizumi-kun, but I arrived here even earlier than our hosts!” The man in white shouted at her, but she snapped back:

“That’s not appropriate either. You should be at place just several minutes before the established time. Why do I even have to tell you this if you’re from the capital yourself?”

“Good afternoon,” Shinguuji bowed and surveyed his future companions. “I apologize for being unfamiliar with the societal norms regarding time. I will assure it does not happen again. After all, I am a fast learner.”

“Please don’t worry,” said the blond man. “Let’s just register your entry.”

“Let me do it!” The tall girl took a fountain pen from her purse and opened a file. “My name is Amami Sadako, and we will be accompanying you during the trip! And you must be Shinguuji Korekiyo.”

“Whoa!” the blond girl yelled and swung her arms. “His parents must be total chumps to give their children such fancy-looking names!”

Shinguuji passed his invitation and passport to Sadako, but his eyes remained fastened on her companion. Just by looking at him and recalling his voice, he was recollecting a stream of possibly related episodes, all scattered across the surface of his memory. Gatherings around the bonfire; strong knots on strong ropes; rafting on turbulent mountain rivers; the small figures of villagers, and kind, hopeful goodbyes. Some of them were blurrier and harder to catch than the others; some of them called back to Shinguuji in his own voice from when it’d been thin and breaking. But he didn’t find any blood splatters or death rattles defiling these flashbacks, or make-up masks.

Even when the last entry was registered, the man still appeared to be waiting for something. Shinguuji settled out his image, adopted the name dropped by Sadako earlier, and said:

“May I ask you… am I right that you are Amami Rantarou-kun?”

The easy smile that grew on Amami’s lips confirmed Shinguuji’s guess. “You’ve finally realised,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Heey, you know this creep?” the blond girl gasped. “But he looks like the type of guy who stays holed up in his bedroom so the sun doesn’t set him on fire!”

“Kukuku… I suppose you have formed a misleading impression of me,” Shinguuji laughed, causing all the girls to gulp at once. “But… it is alright, I am used to it.”

He adjusted his cap and continued:

“You see, I have been travelling all around the world. I enjoy visiting new places and meeting new people. And I am truly looking forward to this journey and the beauty it will show… especially for you five.”

“Eww, I knew that you were some nasty stalker!” the blonde shrieked and hid behind the redhead girl—Koizumi, who made a stand against Shinguuji:

“Can you please clarify what you mean? It makes no sense.”

“Ah, do not fear me,” he said with a look of pleasure. “It is a purely academic interest. I study folklore, humanity’s traditions and customs—or more precisely, people themselves.”

He stared at the locket hanging on his neck, and turned to a concerned Koizumi again:

“The Muimi Islands are a place I have had plans to study for a long time. People, completely remote from those here, living in a heavenly climate, but under the harsh working conditions of the colonial system…” he grasped himself and closed his eyes as Koizumi flinched, “…must hold a special kind of beauty. And of course, the adventures awaiting us in such a strange community will be sure to open new sides of ourselves. A _profoundly_ wonderful experience and potential for fieldwork, do you not think?”

“I agree about the adventures!” Sadako said, hands on her heart. “The Muimi people’s life looks so exciting! I studied some of the fundamentals of their language, and brother even speaks it near fluently, so we can immerse ourselves in their lifestyle!”

“How did I end up in the company of such nitwits?” It was a blond girl again, pouting and staring at her nails. “You go to tropical islands to play on the beach and enjoy your deserved rest while ugly slaves bring you sweets and cold drinks. You have tons of money, so I don’t expect anything less.”

Amami chuckled and rubbed the nape of his neck. “Saionji-san, I’m afraid that’s not that kind of journey we’re going to…”

“Whaat? Sis, tell me that’s just a joke, a joke as lame as his ear piercings!”

“Here, here,” Koizumi sighed. “I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun there, Hiyoko-chan.”

“Excuse me,” Shinguuji asked, “you are Saionji Hiyoko, correct? Are you by any chance connected to the old Saionji clan from an old mountain town? The prestigious family famous for embodying our country’s traditions in the form of dance and stage plays?”

Saionji hunched her shoulders. Her cheeks and eyes turned red, and she gripped her fists, darting glances all over as if looking for a potential target to hit. When she stopped at Koizumi, she stretched her lips into a tense smile and grabbed the bow on her chest.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she grumbled. “Should I strangle you with your hair, or tie it to that horse’s leg and let it run?”

Shinguuji stared at her with raised brows. Koizumi hissed, and both Amamis grimaced and looked at each other.

“Saionji-kun!” a man in white screamed, throwing his arms up. “How outrageous!”

“You wanna join?” she said, treading on him and almost stepping on his feet. “Then I’ll definitely go with stuffing both of your throats with his hair until you choke!”

“Hiyoko-chan, stop it,” Koizumi said, shooting a firm look at both Saionji and Shinguuji. “Yes, you are correct, but it’d be better not to mention the clan again.”

“I am deeply sorry,” Shinguuji said. “I only wanted to pay my respects to the effort you put in classical dancing, something truly rare among our generation. You see, I visited that town once, and watched those marvellous shows numerous times in other locations as well. That is why your face seemed so familiar to me.”

Still pouting, but considerably less angry, Saionji looked away. “I-I see your studies aren’t as useless as I initially thought. I guess I _might_ forgive you if you heed my sis’ warning and buy me some of my favourite sweets.”

“You are her older sister?” Shinguuji turned to Koizumi and appraised her again. “Kukuku… I would never have thought it judging by your looks.”

“No, we’re just good friends. My name is Koizumi Mahiru.”

“And I am Ishimaru Kiyotaka!” a man in white shouted, happy to choose the right time to introduce himself. “Nice to meet you! I hope we can get along and enjoy our mutual trip!”

Saionji giggled. “You said the same thing when we came here… Did you write a script for what you need to say?”

With his startled eyes, Ishimaru opened his mouth, but before the right words came to his mind, Sadako shot out instead:

“It can be possible! When you’re wary of meeting people or going far away from home, all words just clump together and you can’t say anything. So writing a script and memorizing it can be really helpful! I used to do it when I was a child!”

“I-I’m not nervous! It’s just a normal introduction!”

“So, since we’ve all became acquainted,” Amami said, troubled by this emerging quarrel, “how about we take a little walk? We still have time for a jaunt and a cup of tea in a nice restaurant.”

“Sounds great!” Ishimaru said. “Much better than just wasting our time standing here!”

Shinguuji looked at the others’ reactions before voicing his opposition to the idea of an idle stroll. Saionji let out a yawn and gave the same objection:

“I’d better skip this boring ‘jaunt’ or whatever - I’m sick of this city. But I don’t mind tea and sweets, especially if you rich guys are paying for everything!”

*** 

A brick-red house hid the vast restaurant halls. The walls were covered in light wood, tinged pink in the light of the setting sun. Brown carpets formed a seamless web, leading guests to the dining rooms. Pictures of old families sat next to the bronze engravings of newfound insects. A young blond woman, all in black, was playing soothing piano music in the corner. A chess club meeting was being held at the long table, drawn out along the wall, while four old couples enjoyed coffee at the smaller ones.

Koizumi caught her breath and whirled around to grasp the sheer immensity of the hall. “This place is huge… It must be the most expensive restaurant in the city!” she exclaimed.

“It’s actually not!” Sadako said. “The biggest and fanciest one is in the part of Saishuu Plaza that belongs to the Prime Minister’s daughter. This is just a lovely family restaurant with history that goes back over 200 years.”

Amami confirmed his registration slot with the receptionist, and a senior butler guided them to a broad oval table, covered by lacy tablecloth and encircled by easy-chairs. He relieved Koizumi and Saionji of their suitcases and carried them to the cloakroom, while a waitress left a group of menu lists and a beverage menu. Not only did Shinguuji not take his place at the table, he didn’t put his bag down and carried it with him towards the restroom.

“If you excuse me… I will be back in a minute.”

Amami extended his arm to reach him:

“Hey, Shinguuji-kun, you could leave your bag ther—”

But he had already slipped behind the corner, following the way a younger butler had shown him.

“Eww, don’t let him sit at our table!” Saionji said. “Even in flashy places like this, bathrooms are never clean, especially for 200 years! And then he’ll eat with his hands covered by those stinky bandages!”

“No-no, the bathrooms here are crystal clean!” Sadako waved her hands in front of her face. “We visit this place a lot, so I can assure that!”

“The men’s bathroom too? A girl like you probably visits _that_ spot the most!”

Sadako tilted her head in confusion, but her brother answered instead, his voice dry.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t talk like that… especially in a public place.”

Saionji pouted and turned her gaze to the list of snacks, leaving Amami’s bitter remark unanswered. Everyone followed her suit, though when Shinguuji approached them, with light, almost soundless steps, all attention was redirected to him.

“Ah, you still did not order anything? Thank you… and I apologise for making you wait.”

He sat down and took the menu sheet, but a few seconds later he looked up to expose the source of the drilling feel of being stared at. Only Amami was still immersed in the menu; but Sadako looked away in a rush, Ishimaru peered at him even closer, and Koizumi and Saionji exchanged their puzzled glances before addressing Shinguuji again.

“What might have happened, for you to all feel the need to rudely stare at me?” he asked.

Koizumi wrinkled her nose. “Something’s different about you now… but I can’t tell what it is.”

Ishimaru was the first to take notice. “It’s the mask!” he shouted and pointed at Shinguuji. “A zipper suddenly appeared on his mask!”

“Please, do not tell the whole hall our business, Ishimaru-kun,” His voice lowered in irritation. “And do not point at me either, it is improper. It is no big deal, there is no need to ruin the mood and our appetites.”

“What do you mean by ‘no big deal’?” Ishimaru yelled. “I can see clearly that you put on another mask! This is definitely a matter of exceptional importance!”

“It is simple. We are going to have tea, correct? So I changed my regular mask to my eating mask. I do not trust zippers, usually… but they are truly convenient when it comes to eating.”

“He could’ve just taken the ugly mask off, but instead he put on another one, ten times uglier!” With her eyes scrunched shut, Saionji shook his head. “Seriously! Can he stop creeping me out?”

“Please, take it easy.” Amami was waving his hands, a mirror image of his sister. “Shinguuji-kun has always been like this, as I recall from our previous trips.”

“So you do know each other…” Koizumi said, grunting. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you contrived to have him win, ignoring the rules. If you did, you’d better call someone else right n—”

“No-no, the lottery definitely was fair, no need to worry. Sadako-chan can confirm it. I guess you can say that I got lucky again.”

“Lucky...?” Surprised, Shinguuji gazed at him. “You call our encounter a stroke of luck? How interesting, I did not expect this.”

“The last time we met was three years ago.” Amami said, “it really baffled me, since Lady Luck used to cross our travelling routes several times a year. I suppose she hasn’t abandoned this habit.”

Saionji emitted a long yawn and laid her head on Koizumi’s shoulder. “Hey, sis, can you pass me the drink menu? Not just to make an order, I want to swat these gross flies buzzing around my ear.”

“I recommend you white jasmine tea!” Sadako said. “Or maybe red tea with orange zest and spices! We can ask for a big teapot and drink it together.”

Ishimaru cleared his throat and spoke into his fist:

“If you want my humble opinion…” Then he bolted upright and shouted, “I can’t stand tea with additions! Drink juice if you want fruit, but nothing can replace the pure flavour and aroma of natural black or green tea!”

Sadako’s face flamed, and Amami and Koizumi’s withering looks made him shrink back into the chair.

“Nobody asked for your opinion, Ishimaru,” Koizumi groaned. “Take your strong black tea or whatever and apologize to Sadako-chan.”

Shinguuji leaned back and rested a hand on his chin. “Judging by the types of tea Amami-san offered, she is surely acquainted with the traditions of welcoming dear guests.”

“I-I do?”

“In ancient times, when most of the country gathered along the mountain springs, jasmine bushes were widespread, and serving green or white tea scented with these divine flowers and bestowing a guest with flower wreath were considered the greatest hospitality, especially for lowland folk during the Great Crusade.”

He looked over everyone’s faces and continued, pleased by their interest in his story:

“And around 400 years ago, when the Saishuu Port was opened, merchants from faraway countries came bearing new products and even some new traditions, including serving spiced red tea with fruits. I personally do not accept this custom, forced by people who paid no respect to our established culture… but if something is already so deeply entangled with our history, it is not for me to decide.”

“I don’t care about you dopes, but I want tea made of his hair!” Saionji said, looking at Amami with a sardonic grin. He let out a small laugh.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the tea on the menu.”

“Eeeh, you mean your hair dye isn’t tea? You’re no fun and of no use!” Saionji slammed the menu shut with an echoing noise and reclined in her armchair. “Then just bring us a pot of green tea and exclusive sawdust black tea for this geek!”

Ishimaru was about to boast again, but was arrested by Shinguuji:

“I must have been mistaken when I presumed you were related to the family of the previous Prime Minister. In that case, you should have known of this tradition.”

“I— I am certainly related to that family! Prime Minister Ishimaru was my grandfather!”

“Seriously?” Sadako grabbed her knees. “So it wasn’t just a coincidence!”

“Kukuku… What a wonderful company I am blessed with…”

“Ha!” Saionji didn’t share her companion’s amusement. “That old bag gambled away all the country’s wealth and left the nation almost dying from hunger! He should’ve been sent to the gallows for such treason!”

Ishimaru’s eyes were alight with fire. “My grandfather didn’t gamble away the national money! He was betrayed by the Cabinet!”

“So he couldn’t even watch over his underlings? Yet another reason to not let him get away!”

“How dare you!”

“Oh, did the truth hurt your fragile feelings? I’m just saying what the nation actually thinks of your idiotic grandpa!”

Their furious voices clashed, drowning out each other’s voices and the small begs from the sides. They continued to spit out inane insults and accuse each other, until Koizumi stood up and broke their fight in an irritated voice.

“Can you both stop? We came here to have tea, not to ruin relations! We’re going to spend three weeks together - I don’t want you two to kill each other before we even leave!”

The echo ricocheted off the walls, and soon silence settled across the battleground. Strangers in neighbouring tables drove back their irritation. Ishimaru and Saionji turned their blushed faces away from Koizumi’s glare, while Sadako heaved a breath of relief.

“Thank you,” Amami said as Koizumi sat down. “I was starting to feel uneasy about bringing all of you here, but I’m glad you joined us.”

“Next time deal with the matter yourself if it makes you feel so ‘uneasy’. It’s _your_ duty to ensure our safety and entertainment,” she snarled.

“Just by chance,” Shinguuji said, leaning towards Koizumi, “If you do not mind me asking, could you perhaps be a relative of the famous war photographer? Even though it is a rather common name, I still admit this possibility.”

“Yes, that’s my mother,” Koizumi said. “She taught me photography too, but personally I just take pictures of normal people in normal places.”

“Sis brought her best camera with her!” Saionji said, glowing with pride. “When the trip ends, we’ll have wonderful shots of me and all your dumb faces! Sis will catch you in the most unsettling moments and she’ll only delete the photos if you kiss her feet!”

“Hiyoko-chan!”

Saionji hooted with laughter, soon joined in by Sadako and Ishimaru, and all the remnants of tension were soon swept away. Amami let himself laugh as well, urging Koizumi to take a photo. Koizumi responded shyly, informing him that all her equipment was carried away with her bag. But before Amami could say any more, a waitress arrived, bearing a big pot of herbal tea, and the following interval was filled with relaxed chats, continuing until the moment they stepped aboard the ship.


	3. Ocean Highway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet RKS, the third member of my beta harem. Please check her fics, she's the great author!
> 
> The age difference between Shinguuji and nee-san is just my headcanon, because it was never mentioned in the game.
> 
> Also I'm deeply sorry that all big dialogues in this and the next chapter are about siblings. I'll try better next time.

The main clock tower struck six when they arrived to the port. It was placed on the informal border between Middle and Lower Town, and they could see smoking chimney-stalks and dilapidated high-rises to the fore. Sweaty old men in crumpled overalls were wandering around puffy ladies and their restless valets. Children were chasing seagulls, bumping into police officers and squeezing into the line for the health check.

Amami lead everyone to the farthest platform, where sailors were loading barrels on the brand-new steamship. “This is the _Dragon_. Thanks to her modern engines, she will get us to the islands in two days.”

Saionji looked over the ship and groaned. “I thought that you moneybags would have the longest ship in the world just to brag in front of each other!”

The ticket officer, a slim man with round glasses, saluted to Amami. He received the invitations and got assured that all main passengers were ready to set out in a half an hour.

“Will everyone be divided by class?” Saionji asked. “Sis can rest with the first-class people like me and you, but these two,” she glanced at Ishimaru and Shinguuji behind her, “shouldn’t be allowed to get higher than they deserve!”

Amami smirked. “Each of us will have a separate first-class cabin. Everything is prepared to ensure an exclusive trip.”

“To spend a couple of days on the luxurious ship and then dive into miserable life on the island for three weeks…” Shinguuji said breathily and rubbed his shoulders. “I cannot find words to describe my excitement.”

“I think that calling the islanders’ life miserable is an overstatement…” Sadako said, looking at Shinguuji from below. “Their capital city isn’t much different from Saishuu City! And we’ve already booked rooms in the best hotel!”

“But, Amami-san, you have mentioned adventures yourself,” he noted. “And you have said that we shall fully immerse ourselves in the lifestyle of native people. The capital city is just a single faceted gemstone, shining on the top of the heap of cobble. A true life of every folk lies on the lower ground.”

Saionji snorted in her sleeve and whispered to Koizumi, still keeping her voice loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Look at this peasant showing off how he’s never seen a normal life.”

Koizumi hardly resisted laughing as well. To distract herself, she looked at the ship again and stopped her stare at the ladders. The sailors had already taken their places on the boards, and the officers were letting several lines of men in black suits with thick bales on their backs onto the middle decks.

“Hey, who are these people?” she wondered. “Weren’t we the only winners?”

“Oh, these people have nothing to do with the lottery,” Amami said. “They travel to the Muimi Islands for their business or families, and we offered them second- and third-class cabins.”

“So it’s just a slave ship?” Saionji giggled.

Amami waved his hands in denial, but he didn’t know what to answer. Sadako coughed in her fist and also started looking over their vicinity, in an attempt to avert everyone’s thoughts from the unexpected travellers. The first thing that caught the eye was Ishimaru’s expression: he was staring nowhere, brows twitching, lips tightly pressed, shoulders drooped.

“What’s wrong, Ishimaru-kun?” Sadako asked. “You look depressed!”

“I just…” He gulped and glanced at the chimney-stalks. “I wish I could say goodbye to my family.”

“Wait, you didn’t say goodbye to them?” she gasped. “Don’t they know that you are leaving?”

Ishimaru shook his head and added:

“No, I mean right here, at the port… But my father is at work, and my mother is too weak to go outside!”

Saionji clenched her fists. “What are you even complaining about? Sis couldn’t even say goodbye to her mum because she’s working abroad! And the message about sis’ departure will reach her only when the most part of the trip is over!”

Koizumi set her teeth. She understood Saionji without extra words, just by looking at her cheeks reddening and her eyes getting wet. Saionji didn’t want to remember that she’d had to leave the hometown without meeting her father, or even sending a word: nobody in her household would’ve ever thought about informing him. She’d wanted to sneak off at night, but got caught by her sleepless maid and dressed down by her grandmother— it was the last straw after being forced to return home instead of staying at Koizumi’s residence. Saionji hadn’t said a word in the train and hadn’t smiled no matter how Koizumi tried to cheer her up—especially after the news that her mother hadn’t known about the trip yet and her boozy father had overslept, so Koizumi had to move out alone.

“Please, don’t, Hiyoko-chan,” Koizumi said. “No need to fight about who’s more unhappy.”

Amami appeared between Saionji and Ishimaru. “I hope you said goodbye before you left home.” he said. “I understand it, Ishimaru-kun. People we’re close to can be too busy or sick to see us off at the last moment, but they still could still say some parting words.”

Sadako clapped her hands, proud of her brother’s concern. “Also, I’m sure that if nothing was holding them back, they would certainly come here!”

“Ah, that is so right, Amami-san,” Shinguuji said. “Even though my sister is far, far away from me, I can feel that she is worried about my doings…”

At that moment, his voice trembled, and he spread his arms wide. “It is almost like having her next to me right there! I feel that I can turn my head,” and he looked back, eyes gleaming, and reached his hands to the emptiness, “and see her at the distance, waving to me and sending me her best wishes.”

“Oh no, he’s hallucinating!” Saionji yelled and jerked away. “The health inspection won’t let him on the board!”

“Is it something like… twins’ spiritual connection?” Koizumi asked. Shinguuji’s sudden engrossment didn’t inspire much confidence in her.

He swung his finger. “You should not limit it only to twins. I am ten years younger, but our connection is even stronger than one between twins born less than a minute apart.”

“Is such a short time difference between births even possible?” Sadako said.

Saionji turned to her and talked, definitely something incisive, given her bitter grin—but the horn of the ship rang through the entire port and echoed on the industrial rows, and her words fell in vain.

“Let’s go,” Amami said, and all company took their luggage and got up on the board.

***

When the engines roared and the smoke arose from the ship’s pipe, Sadako ran to the edge of the board, hoping to see the propellers gradually moving. Amami ran to stop her at first, but ended up looking for them himself. They only saw foam heaving and following the departing ship, but the propellers were hidden by the main deck itself, protruding above them. Amami didn’t let Sadako lean over the fence and had to take her away from the edge.

“Oh, poor little kid is sad,” Saionji laughed. “Probably thinking: ‘why did you build this stupid ship like this so nobody can see the most interesting part of it’, right?”

“I’m rather shocked at how easily you can look down at the water…” Koizumi winced. “Just thinking about it makes me feel sick.”

Shinguuji seemingly livened up. “Kukuku… I wonder how many people fell into the ocean trying to see how she moves. Or how many used this excuse to hide that they actually wanted to jump.”

Three pairs of wide eyes—Sadako, Koizumi, and Ishimaru’s—stared at him. Amami frowned, and even Saionji jumped closer to the centre and cried:

“W-what are you implying, you bean pole?”

Koizumi stepped towards Shinguuji, but he retreated soon:

“Do not worry so much, it was just a joke. I am sure you all have seen the navigators ensuring the right path, and they also see the whole main deck and can notify the crew about any incidents.”

Amami’s stiff look ceased. He rubbed his chin and said:

“If you all want to, I could ask the main engineer to show us the steam engine room. I haven’t seen it myself, but I’m sure there are a lot of mechanisms that can interest everyone.”

“Nah,” Saionji snapped, “it must be hot, dirty and noisy. And why would I want to wander near some brute slaves? I’m not a kid already!”

Ishimaru crossed his arms on his chest and said:

“You use the word ‘slave’ too much, Saionji-kun! These people work hard so we can travel wherever we want! And don’t forget that they chose this job themselves!”

“Right, slaves are doing their spadework they are only worth of!” Saionji clapped her hands. “A choice between taking coal in a shaft mine and loading it into a furnace isn’t even a choice!”

“All people and all jobs are useful for our society! The success of a governor starts from the successful job of his subordinates!”

“Now you talk just like your no-good grandpa. Don’t tell me that you’re going to restore your family name and follow his steps and so on!”

Ishimaru clenched his chest as Saionji grinned:

“Oh noooo, did I get it right?” She made a dramatic sigh. “I guess if you actually get into an election, I’ll have to go that low to ask all my fans not to vote for you. And there are looots of them!”

Shinguuji hummed. “Your fans, you say? I do remember getting a seat in some kind of a fan zone by accident. I will not hesitate to say that despite Saionji-san’s brilliant performance, it was the least pleasant visit.”

Saionji shivered. She’d already regretted mentioning her fans—she knew those vulgar men just pretended to be judges of high art. She desperately wanted to drop the topic, so it wouldn’t turn against her, but then she heard Amami talking:

“Hmm, Ishimaru-kun is still too young for politics. When he becomes of appropriate age, will Saionji-san’s old fans still stick around her?”

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop bullying me, you jerks! Why is it happening to me?!”

This shift in the mood helped Ishimaru forget Saionji’s insults soon. He moved his gaze on Amami siblings instead—something about them concerned him since the time he’d met them on the square; some evasive resemblance he anxiously looked for and failed to identify.

Amami noticed his stare. “What’s wrong, Ishimaru-kun? If you want to ask something, don’t be shy… because it starts getting creepy.”

“Ah, forgive me, Amami-kun, I didn’t mean anything bad! I’m just trying to find why are you and Sadako-kun so similar!”

Sadako creased a brow. “But we are siblings! I think it’s obvious that we look similar…”

“I mean— _what_ is exactly so similar between you two! You are almost of the same height, both wear blue clothes… but there’s something more and I can’t find it!”

Koizumi just threw a glance at them to get an answer. “Their eyes, maybe? The same shape and the same expression… It’s clear for me.”

“Right!” Saionji said. “The expression of aloof lazy bones! How can you not notice?”

“Even at the exact moment,” Shinguuji said, “when you look at Amami-san’s eyes, you shall certainly see Amami-kun in them, and vice versa. Whatever Amami-kun’s eyes say, you can read it in Amami-san’s, too. I had mentioned siblings’ spiritual connection before, remember? This is the prime example of it.”

Both Amami and Sadako blushed and laughed, only proving Shinguuji’s theory. “Is it something you learned from your studies?” Sadako asked.

“Certainly. I have witnessed so many different people, and I can tell whether ones are related by blood. There is always one thing that is transferred from parents to all their children and sets this connection, even if they look nothing alike. It may be everything: from their resting face to the way how they knock off dirt from their shoes. I am sorry to bring this again, Saionji-san… but this is the reason why I did not believe that you and Koizumi-san are real sisters.”

Saionji frowned and came further. “What do you mean, not _real_ sisters? You try to look so smart and stuff, but you’re just a dummy. Sometimes an unrelated person becomes closer than the _real_ members of your blood family. And what’s the point of looking for similarities, if it’s our differences that brings us together?”

Koizumi’s cheeks flushed. The words of bewilderment had surrounded her and Saionji since the first time they went along in early years—mostly directed at Saionji’s demeanor, but at their contrast as well. How could a heiress from an ancient clan let the most average girl under her wing? How did strict, orderly Koizumi handle Saionji, so cunning and vibrant? People were trying to find a sordid reason even in the children’s behaviour, and didn’t believe such a simple answer as a selfless help in need. Koizumi knew that their differences wasn’t what get them along—rather they became good friends despite them.

“I do not disagree with your statement,” Shinguuji said, voice slightly more tense than usual. “But I think we are talking about different matters. I have mentioned only blood relati—”

“Bla-bla-bla!” Saionji sneered and twirled on one place. “Take a rest, egghead, I get so tired listening to you, like someone’s clogging my head with garbage.”

Shinguuji’s silent indignation felt as if a bubble full of gull swelled and burst under his heart. His brows twitched and he stooped as he muttered through his teeth:

“I dare to say… that your feeling is mutual, Saionji-san. I would prefer to still know you only for your dancing.”

“Ha, at least I have something that even you could appreciate me for! Sorry to say that feeling _isn’t_ mutual!” Even if Saionji tried to sound unaffected, a fear still shook her voice.

“Come on, Hiyoko-chan, let’s better watch the sunset,” Koizumi intruded. While they were arguing, she’d already brought a camera from her cabin.

The ocean turned pink once the sun touched it, and merged with the faded sky. White glossing on the water surface looked like the reflections of the sparse spidery clouds. A pair of dolphins—the girls caught their breath—flew in front of the red solar disk and disappeared in the serene depth. The buoyant day passed and made its way for the peaceful evening.

“Hey everyone, don’t disperse yet!” Koizumi yelled while settling her camera on the tripod. “Prepare for a shot! Don’t blink, or just squint your eyes as you smile!”

She jumped back to the company, next to Ishimaru saluting and Sadako leaning on Amami’s side. Saionji raised her hands, and Koizumi grabbed them. When the camera flashed, Shinguuji looked down—but not to avoid blinking, but to hide his abashment as Amami put his arm on his shoulder.

***

Shabby buildings and broken roads are unfolding like magic castles in a pop-up book. Every step sounds like a paper crumbling. Flat figures of workers, beggars, hookers and orphans wander and spin around in messy lanes between factories and decrepit shelters. In each murky corner, Shinguuji discovers a whole new world, each one more unexpected than the last.

The face of this mother who’s just returned from her mine shift is smeared with coal: she had no time to wash it while her children demand for dinner and a nighttime story. The book slips out from her fingers and she nearly passes out during reading - but she can’t let the children stay without her care. So she keeps reading, even though there’s no more energy left in her voice.

An old hunched woman sings about a lonely princess in the tower waiting for her promised fate to happen. She sounds like a decayed squeaking door, and the can in her feet gets filled with rocks and cigarette stubs. A drunken man grabs the can, but when he can’t find a single penny, he just throws it into the hag’s humpback.

Two teenage girls sit on the porch, helping each other to get ready to go out in higher society. One of them has a black eye and erratic tattoos on her chest. The other one, with calloused feet and a dress barely concealing her body, keeps sobbing silently. Her tears wash away the powder her friend applied before. The tattooed girl gives up on wasting more cosmetics on her and just pulls her away from the suburbs towards the horizon, mottled with multi-coloured lights.

 _This is where the true human beauty lies in_ , Shinguuji says under his breath. He’s moving along the straight path, but his gaze darts from side to side. He won’t miss any charming sight. And this is what makes him to bump into a chunky man, walking towards him—or has he appeared just now?

“Ah, I apologize,” Shinguuji said, but the man moved over with a dry glare.

“I don’t need apologies from you.”

Shinguuji flinches, but keeps silent. He lets his encounter go past him and would continue his travel, if another hoarse call hasn’t come into notice:

“Why did ya answer ‘im? Don’t waste ye time on the human scum.”

“Yeah,” this time it’s the voice of the old street singer. “Why bein’ mannerly with this piece of trash?”

Shinguuji turns back and sees these three people throwing their hostile looks at him. There’s no doubt they’re talking about him, but it doesn’t matter as long as he just goes on and observes. Even— _especially_ —when people show their extreme ugliness, he loves them.  No foul words will stop him on his way.

He takes another turn on the widest alley that’s packed with carts. Paper figures appear by his sides as he walks and watches; and once he faces left, a young girly voice rings on the right:

“Ah, I wish ol’ man carpenter could kick his snobbish ass!”

“I would’ve joined, to be honest,” a tired male voice responds. Shinguuji looks for a person speaking, but they shift to his blind spot. But the girl he’s just heard emerges behind Shinguuji’s back and giggles:

“Of course you would. You’re the hero, and this guy’s just asking to be broken in half.”

“That’s why he left his house, I guess?” another man replies, his voice younger and more enliven. “He must’ve lost all his fear!”

Shinguuji doesn’t stop going. More figures grow on both sides, their empty eyes and black mouths emitting blind malice.

“Such a weakling wouldn’t stand even against my newborn kid!”

“How he even dares to come to our place? He isn’t welcome there.”

“He deserves to be erased from history, so no one will know that he ever existed!”

Inane detestation of theirs drives Shinguuji mad, but he easily brushes the anxiety off. Cruelty is one of the bases of human nature, he reminds himself. One of their weaknesses, driving forces, and ravenous desires they satiate now by cursing him. By taking their venom in portions, he only fulfills his needs for fieldwork. The subject itself holds no weight for Shinguuji as long as he and everyone else revels in their urge for abuse.

“Don’t let our children look at him…”

“I pity his sister so much…”

“She’s so ill, and he still lives her off! I can’t stand on the same ground with him.”

All sounds die out for a while, before reappearing - along with the noises of the throbbing heart and rough breathing. As long as paper dolls don’t touch the forbidden topic, Shinguuji’s able to endure any damage. But the line’s already been crossed, and his patience lasts for no longer.

“Quiet… be quiet…” he mutters through his clenched teeth. But as if mocking his own behaviour, people are just immersed in the talk itself, and Shinguuji’s presence has lost its meaning. Whatever person he faces—a man or a woman; old or young; strong or weak—they pay as much attention at him as at the crumpled paper decoration.

“I can’t imagine how she still handles him. If I were her, I’d throw him in the nearest dump.”

“She’s too weak to do so… and he just uses her kindness!”

“He only wants to lay her, and nothing more. Tch, what a sick bastard.”

Countless voices overlap each other, but Shinguuji can discern every insult directed at him. They wound him like a burning shot. He pulls his hat over his ears, but the flow of echoes keeps coming through.

“You are just spouting nonsense…” he says, but his own call hits an impassable wall of slanders, and perishes before reaching anyone.

“What… what are you talking about?! You all— You do not know what are you talking about! This is just your delusion!”

But no matter how loud his shouts are, it passes by the unshakable crowd. Their hisses chase him and scrape his nerves as he retreats. Familiar alleys extend on Shinguuji’s way back, but the curses follow and ambush him from every nook and cranny.

“Can he die already? It would be better for everyone, especially for his poor sister.”

“He’d better do it himself, so we don’t have to get our hands dirty.”

One careless turn on the slick road—and Shinguuji lies prone, crushed by the fall of laughter. Vast shadows of his hunters fuse into black void, mottled with red throbbing slashes. Ghastly bells stun him, turning his bones into sand. Consciousness almost fails him, and a point of view passes on the exterior spirit, that observes Shinguuji in his defeated state.

Masked headsmen encircle him, and torches flash in their paper hands. The flame ignites them and the execution field, spreading over the whole sham city. As buildings collapse and dense fumes veil the sky, the oaths and roars go up in smoke and fire. Shinguuji’s flesh melts, and ash mingles in the blood flow—but there are no screams, no cramps or any signs of life remaining in his body, until a hollow slum returns the watchful spirit back and grants Shinguuji his senses, rebirth from delirious pain—

His scorched eyes are exposed to the piercing light, and he finds himself procumbent on the wooden floor, surrounded by bleached walls. His sister lays on the sofa—bare as baby, besides her legs covered by a thin white blanket. She has a closed book in her hands, titled as ‘ _Inevitable Witch Hunt_ ’.

“Welcome back, Korekiyo,” she says, but her smile drops soon as she notes Shinguuji’s shrinking gaze, fixed on the book cover. She drops the book on the floor, and it vanishes before falling, but Shinguuji’s fear doesn’t. He squats in attempt to stash from an imaginary blast.

“Come here,” she says, spreading her arms. “I will help you.”

For a split second, she turns into a paper doll with a dull rancour on her static face. The only moment of delusive horror makes Shinguuji stand on his knees, shaky and friable, and keep crawling back.

“Please, do not hide from me,” his sister begs. “Staying alone now is pointless and only brings more harm. I am always here for you.”

While standing on one hand, Shinguuji grasps himself with the other. The memories of the witch hunt left their burns in his mind, but no more illusions, visual or auditory, corrupt his sister’s clear smile. But will she stay the same when he comes over, and not transform into a doll with a torch again as soon as he falls into her trap—this doubt stops him from making any steps forward. He wants to question this, but his sister interrupts him as he opens his mouth:

“Do not say anything, just come here.”

Eyes closed in an obsessive dread, Shinguuji moves ahead—his steps are short and uncertain, as if he’s willing to delay the meet—and he finds the sofa by touch. He feels warm arms embracing him and drawing him to the soft body. It doesn’t turn into the executioner’s violent grip, dragging him into a deadly snare.

“Please, calm down, they are gone now,” she says while stroking his disheveled hair. He opens his eyes to her healing look.

“You said it yourself, Korekiyo: they just deceive themselves. They have no idea what is the truth. They can chase you forever, but it should not hurt you.”

Shinguuji lets himself cling to her in return. He feels a tender flesh, not one abrasive or flame; and his sister’s protection helps to regain his composure. Her voice is full of serene caress, which he hasn’t heard for the eternity he spent in the city.

“Do not throw away your emotions for something that futile. If you are able to stand for your feelings, you should ignore what these cowards say.”

He holds on her tighter, and buries his face into her breasts. He can hear her giggle, contented and free of spite.

“And remember: no matter what, I will always love you.”

If her previous words cast all fears away and soothed his damaged heart, this confession overflowed it with rapture. To embrace her everywhere, to carry out her any order, to sacrifice himself and the world for her sake—there’s no limit for Shinguuji’s passion and no end of his single-minded devotion.

He raises his head, and she pulls his mask off and gives him a fast kiss—he fails to prolong it—marking his dried lips with red.

“I believe you!” Shinguuji says and falls on her chest again. “I will never doubt your love for me.”

“Forget all ill things, Korekiyo. It is only you and me now,” his sister says and presses her lips to his head.

“How do you want me to please you today?” he asks. He leaves his mask off, craving for the next kiss soon.

She hums. “I have been thinking a lot how beautiful and enjoyable would it be… if you were boiled alive. Hot water, the matter we can’t abstain from, but that can bring us boundless suffer… What do you think, Korekiyo?”

These are burns and cureless wounds he desires to receive, and burdens he willingly puts on himself. To embrace her everywhere. To carry out all her orders. To sacrifice himself and the world for her sake. These are three wills that have blinded Shinguuji’s mind—both in dream and reality.

***

When Shinguuji opened his eyes, he hadn’t returned from his dreamscape yet. Luxurious paintings and the fireplace were flickering in front of him. The walls were crannied, the scraps of curses were flashing inside his head, and the warmth of _her_ embrace was still with him. His lungs were almost empty, his throat was burning; and balancing between two worlds paralyzed him. Even though his legs were caught by cold ache in their odd crossed position, he couldn’t move an inch.

He reached full consciousness when he felt that warmth leaving him. Though the reality around him had formed clearly, it was the last remain of the dreamscape, and taking it from him stung him as if his skin was peeled. Shinguuji could scream, but the cough hit him instead. The transmission to the physical world was finished, and he was left alone again.

After clearing his throat, Shinguuji sat in the bed. The comeback was so vicious that most memories of the dream fell to pieces. What happened between him and _her_? Where did the voices come from? What were they saying? The only cues left were the hollow lump in his head and a dry, sour taste in the mouth; but they didn’t give any details away.

Shinguuji told himself to drop these pointless thoughts, but that disturbing confusion was still gripping him and wasn’t washed away in the shower. The glass of water had the savor of crumbled paper. The open razor that was usually flowing in his hand left a lot of cuts on his freshly shaved face. Every stroke of the brush—either black for eyes, white for cheeks, or red for lips—came out as awry and made Shinguuji irritated, his movements only becoming more slattern. From any angle, after every new try, the face in the mirror looked like an insolent travesty on the sacred image. Every gentle word of care was still said in a voice too low to be taken with approval.

He left the paints aside, came back to the bedroom and descended to the floor. His legs were crossed and his back was straight, but relaxed. He put the foldable mirror in front of himself and half-closed his eyes so he could watch the reflection change after his mind had become lucid. The front door was locked since the last night, and it was too early for any intrusions or noises. Unless the catastrophe had taken them unaware and the lower decks had already plunged underwater, leaving less than an hour for upper decks passengers to evacuate; and Shinguuji would run to the boats in haste along with everyone, but not for the sake of himself, but for the sake of—

He realized how much nonsense was still nerve-wracking him. These thoughts had to be banished, to let out with every exaltation and dissolve in space, leaving him in the pure white void. The sea was still and so quiet that no sounds of flowing had reached the insides of the ship—and Shinguuji’s mind was the sea. The sky was clear of clouds and ready for the sun setting up the new day—and Shinguuji’s soul was the sky.

He stayed in the state of empty mind for a while, watching the reflection taking its perfect shape. As Shinguuji reached his goal, he lost control of breathing, let the blank be filled with _her_ senses and the body move outside of his perceptions. When _she_ drew _herself_ on his refreshed face and put the mask on, he’d been finally awake and departed from subconscious mess.

He thanked _her_ and completed his morning routine such as bandaging his arms and dressing up. When he left the room, he met Koizumi closing the door of her cabin. Her hair was sticking up above her ears, and she rubbed her neck before stepping aside from the door: Shinguuji could hear her moaning and mumbling.

Koizumi turned around and twitched—she didn’t expect him to stand behind her with a look of anticipation.

“Ah, it’s you, Shinguuji… good morning. How long have you been here? It’s kind of scary, I’d say.”

“Good morning, Koizumi-san. I have just left the cabin recently. Forgive me asking, but how are you feeling now? You look like you did not have enough sleep.”

She shrugged. “With my working schedule, I never have a good sleep, so waking up too early—even on vacation—became a bad habit.”

“I can relate to you,” Shinguuji said, putting his face on his open palm. “Even when I have a break, I cannot make myself wake up later than at five in the morning. But I always use this time for my benefit, and take care of myself so I get perfectly ready for the day.”

“Good morning everyone!” It was Ishimaru, peppy and shining in his clean uniform. “I’ll admit I’d never expect such words from you, Shinguuji-kun! They would be more befitting for a woman who spends hours on applying makeup!”

Shinguuji was both elated and dazed. “Kukuku, do you view me as a lady? This is so interesting, I definitely do not dislike this…”

“What is this nonsense, Ishimaru, are you still dreaming?” Koizumi grunted. “You know, looking at you now gave me an impression that you’re also an early bird, and already made your morning exercise and even cleaned your room. Don’t tell me that I was wrong, don’t disappoint me!”

“Cleaned the room?” Shinguuji wondered. “But I am sure there is a housekeeping team—”

“H-how did you know, Koizumi-kun?” Ishimaru screamed. “Was my morning song too loud? I’m so sorry, I just always sing to keep myself fresh!”

The nearest door on his side opened, and Saionji’s rumpled head showed up.

“Yes, it was!” she said, her voice more high-pitched than usual. “I was even knocking into the wall, but you couldn’t even hear an explosion with your singing! How did it go, ’ _I put on my trunks and greet the rising sun_?’”

“There wasn’t any line about trunks!” Ishimaru yelled, but Saionji didn’t listen to him. She looked at Koizumi and pleaded:

“Sis, I’ve been waiting for so long! Pleeease come here and help me! And don’t let them peek, or I’ll twist their necks!”

The door slammed shut, and Koizumi sighed. “You heard her,” she said. “Go to the dining hall without us, we’ll get there later.”

When she ceased behind Saionji’s door, they heard a cheery laugh and clapping. With a weak smile, Ishimaru looked away and said:

“To be honest, I would stay and wait for them, but you know these women… I see! We should check on Amami-kun and Sadako-kun’s cabins and call them for breakfast!”

“This is very considerate of you,” Shinguuji replied, “but I have a strong feeling that they have already left for breakfast by themselves. Amami-kun would not like to bother our sleep.”

Ishimaru slumped. “You seem to know Amami-kun well, right? Are you good friends?”

Shinguuji closed his eyes and spoke softly:

“I could say so… the amount of time and hardships we went through with Amami-kun during our travels is impressive. We are the members of different society stratums, we have never met in our common life, but, if we exclude the last three years, is there any travel we haven’t shared? Even now… does some higher power try to bring us together? Kukuku…”

They stood a few steps afar, but both were in their own worlds. Beautiful memories of beautiful people unfolded in front of Shinguuji’s eyes, while Ishimaru was left in the crisp hollow space, and nobody wanted to enliven his desolation.

“S… Shinguuji-kun, I want everyone to promise me…”

“What is it, Ishimaru-kun?”

“I want everyone to become friends!” Ishimaru sobbed, his knees shivering and teeth chattering. “Three weeks in a deserted community will establish our bonds, and we will leave as a good close company! Promise me, Shinguuji-kun, that you will try your best, so we all can be friends!”

Shinguuji let out a gasp. Ishimaru’s dedication captivated him. “Kukuku, this is a wonderful speech, your strong wishes are so beautiful…” he laughed. “You do not have to doubt me. I promise that I will do my best to make friends.”

***

They arrived to the Muimi Main port at night and had to break their sleep to move from the ship to the car that was waiting on the harbour to bring them to the hotel. Koizumi and Sadako were holding on each other in order not to fall asleep while walking. Saionji demanded someone to give her a piggyback, and Amami volunteered with no arguments—no sleep remained in his head anymore.

It was a humid night in the empty city with its dim rare lanterns and uneven streets. The taxi’s slow pace and a soft engine roar put everyone in a slumber again, and only Amami kept his eyes wide open, focused on the road and the driver’s big neck. Sadako rested her head on Amami’s knees, Ishimaru leaned on his shoulder—if someone were to wake him up in a sudden, he would jerk away with endless apologies. No matter how hard Koizumi was rubbing her eyes and telling herself to keep vigil, Saionji’s snuffle lulled her as well. Shinguuji didn’t fit into the back seat, so he dozed off—or was he awake before?—on the front one next to the driver, arms crossed and his head falling forward.

When the car stopped, nobody moved. Amami had to wake everyone up himself and even asked the driver to shake Shinguuji.

“Please, Sadako-chan, just open your eyes for a while, and then you can sleep in the comfy bed for the whole night,” Amami said. Ishimaru slipped off from his shoulder and shouted:

“Amami-kun, was I sleeping on you?! I am so sorry, I hope I didn’t drool on your clothes!”

“Who’s disturbing me and sis’ rest?” Saionji mumbled, her eyes still closed.

“How much?” Amami said, reaching for the purse on his belt, but the driver shook his head like the wind.

“No, no money! The chairman ordered so. No money from the guests.”

Amami still bent over the seat and left a banknote on the front panel. Any attempts to give it back failed—everyone’s cloudy minds were in the dream world, a world without taxis and reception decks.

To relieve Amami from the burden of five drowsy bodies, their documents, and luggage, one butler followed each guest to their room as soon as their registration ended. Saionji was pleading to be placed with Koizumi, but she didn’t hear any answers and blindly came after the butler to a single room without noticing. She fell on the bed dressed and with her shoes on; Ishimaru in the room on her left lost all strength while untying his boots. Koizumi bucked up after taking a quick shower.

Koizumi took her time looking over the room. The shower was hidden in a tight tiled nook divided by a buckram curtain. Bedsheets and towels were white and crispy, and smelled of a homemade soap. An old wardrobe was vast enough to sort all Koizumi’s clothes and camera equipment here, and mirrors inside its doors reflected Koizumi’s whole body in her long black nightgown. Three red curved lampshades were standing out on the plain yellow wall above the sturdy bed. The open window leaf was letting in the hot air and barking sounds from the outside, while the water splattering was heard behind the wall—most likely Amami, because Shinguuji had hardly left his dead sleep since they stepped down from the ship.

Koizumi put the lights out—the last lights in the district—and let herself take a rest.


End file.
